Swords and Jewels
by BuckeyeBelle
Summary: Two warriors meet at a Faire.


Swords and Jewels

(A.N. Transformers belongs to Hasbro and whoever they have allowed the rights to it, which certainly doesn't include me. The song here is Arafel's Lament, music by Heather Alexander, lyric by Mercedes Lackey. If you have the opportunity to listen to it on YouTube or somewhere, please do. No money has been made from this fanfic and no copyright infringement is intended. All I own are my OCs.

This story is set shortly after Revenge of the Fallen. I haven't yet decided if it is in the same universe as any of my other Transformers fanfic. I am in the middle of writing a different tale, but when I heard this song, one very persistent plot bunny refused to leave me alone until I started writing.)

The noonday sun beat down on a park on the outskirts of Washington DC, where dozens of people in medieval costume flitted from tent to tent or crowded the edges of a roped-off arena to watch people in armor spar with practice weapons. Vendors of ale and mead did a brisk business. One very large fellow with a claymore slung over his back, wearing a great kilt, went by gnawing on a turkey leg.

Optimus Prime had spent a long time in Ratchet's medbay went they had got back to Diego Garcia. He still wasn't completely well, the fight with Megatron and the Fallen had taken far more out of him than it would have if he hadn't also been just raised from the dead. He still had yet to completely comprehend that.

He suspected that Lennox and Ironhide had deliberately arranged for him to be needed in Washington. It got him away from the constant stress of Diego Garcia. It had also put him in the care of Will's younger sister Betony, who among many other things held a CDL. Will had described her as some kind of a hippie, but trustworthy. Prime rather thought her brother had underestimated her on both counts. She was quiet, possessed of a self-assured wisdom and an inner peace that he found himself truly coveting, and was a gifted musician.

She was the drummer for a band that was playing this fair, and he had ended up parked here because the bandmate who usually drove had run out of gas money. He had ended up bringing Betony, the penniless Jordan, who played some sort of wooden flute, and a tall blond woman with silver-gray eyes and white hair that fell to her knees who called herself Diarwen. She played a small harp, and when he scanned, the sword she wore belted over her tunic and leggings was very real. It was also made of some alloy he did not recognize.

The three of them had chosen a park fountain as a stage, and passers-by threw money into Jordan's hat. People started shouting requests, which led to more tips. But then someone wanted to hear something called "Arafel's Lament."

Diarwen claimed thirst and tried to duck singing that one, but someone offered a large tankard of mead. Optimus saw her close her gray eyes for a moment and a look of pain seemed to cross her face briefly. But then she downed a few swallows of the mead, and passed the tankard to her fellow musicians.

Diarwen began to strum a haunting melody, accompanied by Jordan's flute. Betony put down her bodhran and sang accompaniment, her smoky alto contrasting with Diarwen's clear soprano.

_The sorrow of the elves is they live beyond their time_

_(The Tree of Swords and Jewels waits for me)_

_Until the world forgets them save in tales and rhyme_

_When shall I hang my own upon the tree?_

_The sorrow of the elves is that all they love must die_

_(The Tree of Swords and Jewels waits for me)_

_Time withers all about them yet the elves it passes by_

_When shall I hang my own upon the tree?_

Diarwen seemed to be singing directly to him. He felt a chill that was clearly at odds with the warm summer afternoon. The swordswoman seemed to be looking right through him, and her silver eyes were filled with an understanding no mortal so young as she seemed could possibly have reached, even if she did know all there was to know about him. He was not prepared at that moment to swear that she did not.

_The sorrow of the elves is they dare not touch a friend_

_(The Tree of Swords and Jewels waits for me)_

_For touching brings a change that magic cannot mend_

_When shall I hang my own upon the tree?_

_The sorrow of the elves made them seek another place_

_(The Tree of Swords and Jewels waits for me)_

_and I alone remain the last of my lost race_

_When shall I hang my own upon the tree?_

Optimus heard a note in her voice that convinced him she knew exactly what she was singing about. He did an internet search; the song was apparently a filk by Mercedes Lackey about a book written by an author named Cherryh. Her voice and the shimmering notes of the harp drew a truth as sharp as any sword from the fiction of her song.

_Now I alone remain to mourn and count the cost_

_(The Tree of Swords and Jewels waits for me)_

_Of every leaf that fades and every flower lost_

_When shall I hang my own upon the tree?_

_Yes, I alone remain to hold the land that magic made_

_(The Tree of Swords and Jewels waits for me)_

_I can't hold back the dark and daily see it fade_

_When shall I hang my own upon the tree?_

Her song brought back aching visions of Iacon when it had been the pride of Cybertron. Faces long gone and voices long silent came back to him in aching clarity. So few remained. So much was only memory now.

_The sorrow now is mine who harms what I would heal_

_(The Tree of Swords and Jewels waits for me)_

_And how long must I bear the stand of sorrow's seal_

_When shall I hang my own upon the tree?_

Her voice fell silent, and she looked right at him again, as if to say, you are not the only one.

After that, they did take a break. They got their things out of the way so that a group of bagpipers could play.

Jordan said, "I don't know why you never want to sing that song, Diarwen. The crowd loves it and they really tip."

"That's why I sing it even though it's the saddest song I've ever heard in my life," she replied. "Too much _truth_ in that, and there are some people who don't need to hear it." That last was clearly an apology. She split the money three ways, tucking her third into an embroidered bag that hung at her belt.

Looking at her more closely, her hands and arms were covered with a fine network of scars. She moved with a casual grace and strength that came from long hours of martial arts practice. He would have bet his last energon cube that she was no stranger to wielding that sword of hers in combat, but where did humans on this planet still fight with swords? Who in the Pit was she anyway?

She somehow sensed his scrutiny, and responded with a gentle touch to his door frame. Will must have told Betony, and Betony must have let the truth slip to her friend. Now what was he going to do about that? He wondered if their government might be tempted to "disappear" a couple of eccentric college students to keep their secret. Surely they wouldn't dare touch Will's sister. He hoped they realized the terrible vengeance that they would bring down upon themselves if they ever did. Optimus did not want to think about what Will Lennox might do if his family were threatened, and Primus help him, he would be drawn into that in a conflict of vows.

Betony finished counting her money. "I think I have enough here for that new drum I wanted. Are you coming?"

Jordan did, but Diarwen said, "No, I think I'll stay here and rest a little. I had more of that mead than I should have."

"Good, isn't it?" Jordan grinned.

Once her friends had gone, Diarwen gave a deep sigh. "All right, I know you're here because I can sense you. Now where are you, _who_ are you, and what in the name of the Mother have you got to do with my friends?"

Her voice now held an undercurrent of steel. She meant to have her answers and something told him she meant for him not to like the results if he lied. The look in her eyes was age and confidence. He wasn't sure what she meant to do if he didn't answer her, but he had been a warrior for many long years and he knew when he faced a very real threat. There was not a doubt in his mind that Diarwen was a threat. What was more, she had some idea of the level of threat that she faced, but there was no panic at all. She was either courageous or a fool. This was nobody's fool.

He spoke through the radio, hoping to defuse the situation without revealing too much. "I know Betony's brother."

"The Army ranger? I don't doubt that. But you're no human soldier. I've felt auras like yours but not for many a year. You have something to do with that boy the government wanted. Betony and Jordan do not need to be caught up in whatever that was all about."

"I agree entirely. I have no wish to involve them in anything."

"You mean me no harm, yet you guard your secrets closely. Very well, I will honor your privacy. Honor me with the truth to this, does your presence here bring any enemies with you?"

"I think not. Those who remain will be in disarray for some time."

"Good fortune, for once," she said. "I sensed a great sorrow in you. Had I known it would bring back dark memories, I never would have sung that song."

"Those memories are darkness and light bound up in one another. Their darkness cannot help but bring back their light as well. You sang it like it might have been written for you."

"It might have been at that," she admitted. "But as you say, to remember the darkness is to bring back the light as well, if only for a moment."

"Who are you, Diarwen?"

"A warrior and a bard, dedicated to the Lady of Light and to the protection of the innocent. These days, nothing more than that. The time of my kind has passed. Perhaps a few drops of our blood still flow in the descendants of those my kin once loved, but as far as I know I alone remain of the Sidhe in mortal lands."

"Do Betony and Jordan know?"

"Jordan thinks elves originated with Tolkien. I won't venture a guess on what Betony might know. That one is more than she yet understands. I am their true friend, and they mine. I turn your question back on you, Sir Knight, since you choose to open this line of inquiry—who are you?"

He rumbled a laugh. "Like you, Lady of the Sidhe, a warrior, but no bard! I am a stranger given refuge here. Our war spanned ages. Unwittingly, I brought it here. Now I defend this land from my enemies."

She laid her palm on a scratch in his dashboard that exposed metal. "My hand should be burning with that—cold iron is anathema to my kind. The only way that could not be happening is the presence of a life force. I think you defend this _world _from your enemies. You need not tell me if I am right or wrong, I have eyes to see things that most others miss."

"That, Lady, is the understatement of the century. Most people who have determined as much as you have would not stop running before sundown."

"More fools they. There has always been more to the world around them than they have acknowledged. Their songs and legends are filled with wonders. Yet, when the truth behind their myths is revealed to them, they often react with fear and violence. When the black death came, my people would have brought healing and helped them back to their feet. Instead they condemned us as worshipers of their devil, bringers of the scourge that we sought to contain, and cast us to the flames by the hundreds. Thousands fled this realm, never to return."

"You remained. I hope that was of your own free will."

"A choice dictated by the demands of honor, but mine to make, nevertheless. Once I was a warrior of my Queen's Own Guard. My brothers and sisters fell defending the retreat of the court from those determined to kill us to the last man, woman and child. I remained to destroy the gate and make sure that none followed. I had some thought of dying as my fellow warriors had died, but such was not my fate. My enemies found the sharp end of my blade, rather than I theirs. After that, I have been content to follow the Lady's whims. I have been a wandering stranger, but never long alone. Few of us remain to stand against the fell things that Sidhe and mortal magic once held in check, but we tend to find one another."

"You said that you had met my kind before."

"I was but a child at my mother's knee. Six noble knights fleeing a dark lord sojourned with us for a while. They carried with them something precious, too precious for the eyes of a mere child. They told me stories of a wonderful place far beyond the lands I knew. I saw in them that they journeyed knowing there would be no return home for them. They sought a place where certain lines converged, where this treasure they carried could be protected from the evil that sought them. The willing sacrifice of the blood of kings has great power. The Queen sought to dissuade them, for that is great, old magic. To bind one's spirit eternally to the service of one's people is no small thing. My people would have fought beside them, but many humans had already died for possession of this thing. It was the choice of these knights that no others save their own should be lost in its cause. My people will remember them with great honor in the lands beyond the setting sun, until all walk the shores of the eternal lands in peace."

"We say, till all are one."

Diarwen nodded. "So, we two knights errant meet in this foreign land. Think you that might be by chance?"

"It might be, but I doubt it," he replied.

"Do you know the rest of that tale? I hope they found an honorable end and a peaceful rest."

"They did. They found the place they sought and there sacrificed themselves to keep the world safe from the misuse of their treasure. They guide us still, from the eternal lands which we call the Well of All Sparks. To the best of my knowledge, they crossed the veil peacefully, in the knowledge that their actions saved many lives."

"No warrior can ask for more."

Betony and Jordan returned then. Betony showed off her new bodhran, and even Optimus could see that it was an instrument of great beauty and craftsmanship. She gave her old one to Jordan. They brought their friend milk, since she had claimed an overindulgence in mead. She drank what he had seen on the Internet was known as a favorite of her people from a mundane paper cup. Jordan had a turkey leg, which Betony made him eat outside. After a while they played another set, and this time Diarwen chose only dance tunes and traditional romance ballads. She kept their listeners too busy kicking up their heels to ask for any more laments.

By the time the faire ended late that night and they helped some vendors they knew tear down their tent, Betony and Jordan were exhausted and feeling the effects of too much mead. They slept while Diarwen pretended to drive, saving him the effort of putting up a holoform.

Betony lived in an old house on the Maryland shore that had been in the Lennox family for generations. It had a large, well-kept barn which he shared only with a big tomcat, who immediately jumped onto his hood as casually as he would any human's lap.

Diarwen came back for their musical instruments, but instead of going directly back into the house, she lit a lantern hanging on the wall and sat on an upturned barrel beside the barn door. Like any warrior, it was ingrained in her to tend her weapons before she slept. He fell into recharge to the cat's contented purring, the whisper of stone on steel, and the Sidhe warrior's soft humming as she composed the final verse to a heroic ballad that had long lacked an ending.

The End


End file.
